


Oh to be young, oh to be grown

by sterekvibes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, comfort ur boyfrind peter my god, idk i might make another part just so they cna get a happy ending, peter finally comforts his boyfriend, peter u idiot ur boyfrind is hurting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterekvibes/pseuds/sterekvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pretends that the bumps on his neck don't itch. He pretends he doesn’t imagine scratching at it until he bleeds and oh no call an ambulance harry’s dead!</p><p>He pretends a lot.</p><p>Well, it's time to grow up Harry.</p><p>(Or where Harry sees monsters and everyone leaves him and why can't he just grow up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched the amazing spiderman 2 and i have some feelings about it so here's a thing that's not edited.

He pretends that the bumps on his neck don't itch. He pretends he doesn’t imagine scratching at it until he bleeds and _oh no_   _ call an ambulance harry’s dead! _

He pretends a lot.  


_ Well, it's time to grow up Harry. _  


  


-

He first noticed the raised skin on a Monday. He knows it was Monday from the way the sun didn't smile at him and people passed each other on the streets without a glance.  


The mirror shows the beginning of the end and reflects the horror in his pale blue eyes.  


( _ “Grown men aren't scared, Harry.” _ )  


Grown men aren't scared.  


He repeats it to himself when he covers up every mirror in the house.  


  


-

The drinking has always been a problem.  


(Harry prefers the term solution.)  


With the drinking the itching becomes bearable and the impulse to break all the fucking mirrors in the place recedes. With the drinking he can focus on a pain of a different kind; he picks up a boy with brown doe-eyes and a sly smile, who he lets fuck him into the mattress.  


In the morning, he sends the boy off with a wad of cash and a kiss.  


Who said money can't buy happiness.  


(They were wrong.)  


(They were  _ right _ .)  


  
  


-

He curls up in bed that night, huddling under the blankets. The city outside is alive and bright, the lights casting shadows into his room. They form monsters and demons who taunt and taunt.  


_ Just like your father _ , they say.  


_ Just like your mother _ , they say.  


_Dead, dead, dead._  


Monsters and demons aren't real.  


Grow up Harry.  


  


-

"I can't give you my blood.”  


“I'll do anything,” to prove his point he kneels down before the masked man and licks his lips, “anything.”  


He's desperate. So desperate he'd sell himself to the lowest bidder. So desperate he'd sell himself for nothing at all. He might as well slap a sign on his forehead saying ‘free fucks if you can save this horrible waste of space.’‘Cause that's what he is. A waste of space. 

‘Cause that's what he is. A waste of space. He's curled up cockroach fighting desperately to stay alive even when the world stomps its heavy foot on him.  


The man in the mask sighs, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I'm sorry.”  


“Please,” he begs, eyes closed, on his knees. “I can give you everything.”  


His neck itches desperately and his drinks are calling to him, but he ignores it because this could be his permanent solution.  


“I'm sorry,” he says again.  


Spiderman leaves and in a fit of anger Harry picks up a  picture frame and throws it on the floor. He realizes too late that it's a picture of his mother. He picks it up, the glass shards cutting his fingertips. Blood forms from his fingertips, staining the picture.  


“I’m sorry,” he cries.

_ Add a little blue _ , he thinks,  _ and I’d be just like Spiderman. _

He laughs until his lungs hurt.  


Spiderman was supposed to be a  _ solution _ . Not a solution like drinking or smoking or hooking up with pretty boys just because they happen to look like Peter. Spiderman was supposed to be a  _ permanent _ solution. Spiderman was supposed to  _ save _ him.  


Isn't that what heroes are supposed to do?

(Heroes aren't real, Harry. You have to fend for yourself.)

Grow up, Harry.  


He doesn't think he has enough time left to do it.  


  


-

Peter comes to see him, eyes filled with pity when he looks at Harry. Harry must be a mess; he smashed the last mirror days ago and hasn’t looked at himself since. He even threw out the silverware when he caught a glimpse of himself in it.  


“When I die, will you plan my funeral?” Harry asks and takes a swig of alcohol straight from the bottle. He can't imagine what would happen if he left his assistant in charge of it. She'd probably actually  _ invite _ people.  


“Harry,” Peter’s voice breaks enough for Harry to think he almost cares. Peter shakes his head  “Harry no, no. You'll be fine, we'll get through this together. We'll find a cure.”  


Harry motions to the patch on his neck that has spread and spread. Infected, diseased, damaged. Those are the first words that come to mind when Harry bothers to look at himself.  


“I don't think there’s much time left, Pete.”  


“Don't say that!” Peter runs a hand through his hair. “You're my best friend, I can't lose you too!”  


He's Peter’s friend.  


(Oh dear Harry, did you ever think anything else? Only kids lie to themselves.)  


Grow up Harry,  _ tick tock. _  


"I'm a lost cause, Pete. Even the hero of the city thinks so,” Harry smiles grimly at Peter’s stricken face. “Go home to your girlfriend, Pete.”  


  


-

  
  


Peter goes home to his girlfriend and Harry pretends that his chest hurts because he's dying.

_Why do people keep leaving_?

(Stop pretending, Harry.)

  


-

Harry watches the news and reports of Spiderman swinging across the city and saving people. He saves men, women, children. Even a kitten stuck in a tree at one point.  


_ How come he couldn't save me? _  


_ Too far gone to be saved _ , his mind supplies him.  


He supposes he was too far gone too many years ago. When he first let an older man fuck him in his boarding school bed, or when he first realized his dad didn’t actually love him, was when he was too far gone.  


The thought eases his troubled mind. It lets him sink back into the couch with a relaxed sigh that he hasn't let out in months. If he was ready too far gone at age fifteen then he can't fault Spiderman from recognizing a lost cause.  


And so he watches as Spiderman saves and swings while Harry drinks and drinks.  


  


-

_ I don’t want to die _ , Harry thinks. He’s standing on the roof of a building.  _ I don’t want to die. _

But he’d rather leave the earth on his own terms. If this disease has dictated the end of all that is Harry Osborn, the least he can do is make sure it never runs its full course.

And so he stands, arms spread wide, grin stretched across his face. He can see almost all of New York. It’s fitting.  _ Born here and died here. _ Maybe they’ll write it on his grave; Harry Osborn;  _ fucked up piece of shit with no family couldn’t even get out of this damn city no matter how hard he tried. _  


He wonders who’d come to his funeral. Probably Peter, maybe his assistant.  


He doesn't really have anyone else.  


He’s  _ pathetic. _  


_It’s time to grow up Harry._  


And so he listens and so he falls and falls.

_ Harry Osborn _ , they’ll write on his grave,  _ went out with a bang. _  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of cuddles & swearing

It’s like he’s finally free. Someone’s taken their scissors and snipped the invisible wires that kept him a puppet. Harry understands why people skydive now, the  _ thrill  _ of it can’t compare to anything else. Of course, they’re not quickly rushing towards their death, but that’s what Harry likes more. He likes knowing what's coming at the end of this ride.

 There’s the wind in his ears and it sounds like hearing the ocean for the first time. There’s phantom arms wrapped around him and it’s like feeling loved for the first time. There’s pressure on his face and it feels like the time when Peter kissed him on the forehead and tucked him into bed.

 The ground is coming closer, he can hear the honks of the busy cars, can smell the hot dogs coming from the food stand. No turning back now.

 He closes his eyes.

 (That was his biggest mistake.) 

 

-

 

First there’s confusion, shouldn’t he have hit the ground by now? Shouldn’t he have splattered all over the pavement in front of everyone? Shouldn’t he be standing at the gates of hell begging to be let in because even he’s too shitty for _hell_?

 Then he thinks maybe an angel has come to take him, that he’s being brought up to heaven to meet his mom and all his disappointed ancestors. But the arm around his waist feels more like flesh and blood and less like an ethereal being.

 And he opens his eyes up to red and blue.

 (So Spiderman isn’t his cure- he’s his savior.)

 God, he could at least save him when he actually _wants_ to be saved.

 

-

  
Spiderman drops them off on top of a building, the gravel crunching under his feet when he lands.

He gently releases Harry onto shaky legs, keeping his arm around Harry’s waist.

 "Let go of me,” Harry mutters, half heartedly pushing at the hand on Harry’s hip. The hero hesitates, fingers moving back briefly before settling on Harry’s hip again. “I said let go!” Harry yells, and stumbles forward out of his hold.

 His knees give out and he falls onto his hands. “Fuck,” he rubs his hand over his face, “fucking fuck you!” He twists his body around to face the hero. “You save me now, you fucking asshole?”

 Spiderman stands there looking out of place with his spandex suit, shuffling his feet. 

Harry shakes his head and pulls himself up.

 They’re still on a relatively high building.

 “Catch me if you can, Spiderman,” Harry whispers, and sprints towards the edge of the building. The gravel is slippery, but Harry runs with all his confidence. 

 “Harry!”

 The shout of his name is enough to shock him, have him tripping over his own feet. It’s been awhile since he’s heard his name come from someone else.

 There’s hands cradling his face next. “ _Please,_ Harry don’t ever do that again. I can’t lose you too,” Spiderman says.

 “What?” _Lose him?_ Spiderman never found him in the first place, and who’s to say he’d be _lost_ to death? Death would comfort him in it’s warm embrace.

 “Harry it’s me,” he pulls off the mask and suddenly Harry’s staring into the brown doe-eyes he imagined right before death.

 “Peter,” the name slips from Harry’s mouth without his permission.

 The sun rises over the hill, the puzzle pieces click into place, the feeling of disappointment washes over him. 

 Harry was never important enough to tell. 

 He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked, he should be used to this shit by _now_. Never being important enough, or good enough.

His breathing is shallow, and he lets out a bitter laugh. “Peter Parker, shoulda’ known.”

  _Peter-fucking-parker_

 Is his second-to-last thought before he passes out.

 His last  is,

  _God, I still love you._

-

  
  


Harry wakes up in a soft bed curled up with a scratchy blue blanket in Peter’s room. Peter is nowhere to be seen, his suit discarded haphazardly on the desk chair, but Harry can hear movement coming from downstairs.

 He sighs into the blankets and lets his eyes rove over the contents of Peter’s room blankly.

 Peter has news clippings on his wall. _Harry’s not dead_. Peter has a fancy camera on his desk. _Harry almost died._ Peter has scuffed shoes resting by the closet. _Harry was saved by Spiderman._

 Peter’s suit is sitting on the chair. Peter _is_ Spiderman.

 “Fuck,” he mumbles. It seems to be his new favorite word.

The question is; why wouldn’t Peter have helped him find a cure? Why did Peter care so much about protecting his identity?  Does he not trust Harry? Is Harry not  _ worth  _ it?

 Couldn’t he have just told Harry before? Harry would’ve found a foolproof way to kill himself then.

 “Harry?” A knock at the door.

 “Come in.” His voice is rough, so he clears his throat, wondering how long he’s been out.

 Peter walks in, his hair sticking up in every direction, glasses perched low on his nose, carrying a bowl of soup. “I have soup,” he says, with a pleading smile.

 “I see that,” Harry says and pulls the covers over his head.

 There’s a _clunk_ , which Harry assumes to be Peter setting the bowl on his desk, before the blankets lift and Peter’s crawling in next to him, tucking himself against Harry’s back.

“Peter-” Harry starts.

 “I’m so sorry. _God_ , shit,” Peter sniffles, clenching his hands in Harry’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, please don’t do that ever again _please_. I don’t want to see you die, _please Harry.”_  Peter’s crying into his shoulder now, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist. “I’m trying to do everything I can. I’m gonna do everything I can, I’m not letting you die Harry, _okay_? You’re too special to me.”

 “Pete-”

 “I’m working on a cure using my father’s research, which I found on an abandoned subway train. We’re gonna get you back to all nice and healthy. Okay? And you can stay here with me or we can stay at your place, and I’m never letting you near any tall buildings again-”

 “Pete-”

 “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just wanted you to be safe,” Peter finishes, pulling Harry tighter to him.

 Harry sighs, “It’s fine Pete, I’m not worth saving. It’s too late for me.”

 “No, no _no_. You _are_ worth saving. You’re my best friend, and even though I save people everyday, _you’re_ the only one I really want to save. I would save you before saving the whole world and not think twice about it.”

 “Peter, once I go you can just find a new best friend,” Harry says even though his heart clenches at the thought. And are those tears on his face?

 “You’re irreplaceable,” Peter whispers in his ear, tears dropping onto Harry’s neck, “I love you. I love you _so much_ I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I can’t lose you.”

 It’s the love confession of the century. Two boys in a small bed, under a scratchy blue blanket. One famous hero and one billionaire in love.

 (One sad boy in love with another sad boy.)

 It’s perfect.

 Harry turns over in the bed to face Peter’s blotchy red face, wiping the remaining tears from his face.

 “I love you too, Pete,” Harry says, and his grin is so big it hurts his face.

  
They don’t let go of each other the entire night.

(Harry has a boyfriend, Harry's all grown up.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided Harry needed a nice ending with some cuddles. Tell me if you want another chapter with more cuddles and cuties living together! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I might make a part two but idk if it should end sad or happy somebody help me


End file.
